Wednesday, December 11, 2013

There Once Was this Girl

She used to live in a place that was much colder, you know. It snowed a lot, but that didn't mean it didn't just melt days later. No mater; the snow wasn't nearly as bothersome as the weathermen made it out to be. It was kind of nice because it made you feel like everything was going to be okay simply because of the blinding shimmer. The girl that once was really liked it in the snow... It made the air easy to breathe. She vividly remembers Christmas lights in the snow by the capital and a coffee shop with cups that weren't washed very often, but that didn't bother her because she didn't wash herself very often either: It fit, that coffee shop and her. It must have been the paper mache tables, that out of tune piano, or maybe even the brownies that made that coffee shop the best place to gather and think. A lot of walks happened around there, and they happened in a lot of different seasons. The girl that once was never minded the 20 minute drive because sometimes driving seemed spontaneous! She often played the 'How many miles can I go on empty" game just to seek the thrill of being stranded somewhere new. Lord knows the girl who once was had enough mix CDs to last her for miles of empty, teach her new routes, and let her sort things out. It's funny, because now that girl's speakers are broken, and when it snowed she felt it was rather cold and she preferred to stay inside. She showers at least 5 times a week now, and most feel that's an improvement. Afterall, she's much fancier nowadays in the land of the famous and business-minded folk.

Sometimes, though, the girl that once was secretly steals away and becomes the girl that will always exist in the hearts of those who once knew her. She is a less bitter, anxious, jealous, more secure version of that girl, but nonetheless, she still listens to Dashboard and fibs about the amount of showers taken. She still drinks a pot of coffee a day and goes too deep too fast just to show those around her that she'll love until there's nothing left. She likes the feeling of pouring out just to know another has received...even if she's received nothing.

It's like the girl that once was has lived two distinct lifetimes which have never intersected. It's like one day she woke up and ceased existing as the girl who once was and became the girl who is. She has these dreams sometimes though; these dreams about waking up around the capital and running, and driving, and running just to find that girl and tell her that everything will be okay as long as she stays and hums a simple tune. She just needs to stay and run in place instead of running away. She wonders what would have happened had she woken up and breathed more breaths as the girl who once was. She only knows one thing: Those lifetimes can never intersect without ending up in a terrible and fiery death-blast (Too much  Si-Fi? Sorry, that's the girl who once was speaking.). The girl who once was is like a storybook now. A collection of cautionary, humorous, and romantic stories of seemingly fictional tales.

Bedtime stories are for children. The girl who once was lays her head down on the coffee shop table, hums a pretty tune, and waits to see her other self in her other life, if only in her sleep. Run straight, girl.

{Sometimes your dreams tell you marvelous tales...}

Wednesday, July 10, 2013


Do you ever sit, and [simply] stare?
Thinking, Dreaming, Waiting?
Because I do.
Often, yes?
I sit and [simply] stare outside these four walls
Thinking, Dreaming, Waiting.
I wait for the simple essence made of magic
To [simply] pull the trigger so that I can see the world
Through a simple mind.

I'd rather be lost that stagnant beneath ceilings.

Alternative choices: Both made and unmade
Like a child's bed
Where I remember staring quite [simply] at the certain future
While I remained still.

I am looking...
Though I am looking to become lost
(Because found is boring)

All I hear is ringing and monotony of dinging:
Money Making.
[Simply] Money making, bill paying, anticipating...

Hammers and Strings
And things made of Ivory
Those are the simple things
That keep an artist breathing.
To live is to create:
Simple and complex things.

But time is money, and I hear the cash drawer dinging.
It's [simply] not simple
To hear melodies inside your head
When the ceiling holds your hand and tells you it's better off this way.

It's simple, really. 


Thursday, March 28, 2013

Happy Beginings...

I love beginning something: It's fresh, it's exciting, it's new.... there are so many possibilities at hand, so many different journeys to embark on. To start the journey of being married to the person who chose you and taught you all about a crazy little thing called love is beyond exhilarating. I always thought my wedding day would be the best day of my life (and don't get me wrong--it was everything I ever dreamed of and so much more), but I never could have fathomed the possibility that the days AFTER the wedding (the 'daily grind') could be even more glorious. Why? Because everything is so real, so tangible, so lasting, and so good.

Some people say when you fall in love, there is a spark that ignites a fire. Personally, I felt that was all a load of crap. "You choose to love," I would say, "You make a logical, cognizant decision, and then you commit. It's simple. It's choice." Fear of getting hurt makes us say really foolish things that appear so wise.  When a spark occurred, my instinct was to grab a bowl and hinder a growing flame...fortunately, the spark had a cause, and the cause had a heart, and the heart had a spirit, and that spirit had a lighter, and that lighter drew close to me, and taught me how to be ablaze.

Trust. Fall. Catch. Love. Glow.

So we let that happen....

On March 15th, 2013 at approximately 4:30 pm, I married my best friend. I married the one who taught me how to be in love. I married the person who surpassed my dreams: The person who showed me the shades of yellow I'd not even tapped into yet. Oh, what an adventure it has been. The best part? It's just the beginning.

And as long as there in breath in my lungs, I will never stop loving him. Because now? He is a part of me.

We are an 'us,' and I am a 'his' and he is a 'mine.' 

~Rachel Elizabeth Storment~